Page 13 of Piggy

Grayson

I pull up beside Charlotte’s red hatchback and kill the engine. My fingers drum the steering wheel.

I don’t want to go in.

Not because of Brax. Not because of Atticus.

Because of her.

That clingy little mess with the big, stupid eyes and ratty hair. Acting like I’m some knight in shining armor instead of the bastard I really am.

Too young. Too dumb. Too easy to upset. And I gotta face it. She’ll fuck around. All women do.

Lately, she’s been even worse, throwing herself at me like a damn puppy begging for scraps. It’s pathetic. I should’ve ended this shit sooner, before she started that family-talk nonsense. Before I pictured her being railed by some muscle-head… her leaving me.

With a heavy breath, I swing open the door and step into the house .

And freeze.

Fuck.

On the couch sits Bobby fucking Morris, his lanky body spread out like he owns the place.

His hair’s greasy, like he hasn’t showered in days. Big nose, that same twitchy jaw, that rodent smile that always means someone’s about to get screwed.

He stands like we’re old pals, smiling.

“ Grayson! ” he crows, grabbing my hand and squeezing hard. “Damn, bro. Long time.”

I don’t move.

His palm’s rough. His skin smells like gas station soap and parole sweat.

“I just got out,” he says, already digging into his front pocket. “Your roommate gave me a ride. Sweet little thing.”

My heart drops. I grab his wrist.

“You touch her?” I growl.

He laughs, all teeth. “Nah, man. Not like that. She offered. Real polite. Little peach, that one.”

“Hi, Grayson!”

I whip my head around.

Charlotte’s peeking from the hallway, all innocent and clueless, smiling like she didn’t just hand me to this asshole.

Wearing that .

Tiny denim shorts and a white top so low I can see the start of her bra. She steps into the living room, tilting her hips, trying to look sexy .

For me.

Fuck.

My jaw clenches. She has no idea what she’s done.

I head toward her, planning to herd her back into her bedroom. Halfway there—

Knock knock.

I turn.

A black Suburban idles outside.

I know that truck. Too well, a relic from my past. The back window’s duct-taped. The front’s missing a bumper. The rust has rust.

I haven’t seen it in years.

Bobby’s already moving. Grinning. “The boys are here.”

I can’t get there fast enough and he throws the door wide.

Four men walk in. One’s tall and lean with pockmarked skin, his neck crawling with prison tats. Another’s missing two fingers. One drags a baseball bat across the tile with a soft scrape-scrape. And the last is big. Not gym big. County big. Solid. Silent.

My blood goes cold.

Bobby claps his hands. “Alright, guys. Let’s have some fun!”

Charlotte’s still standing there. Oblivious.

Goddamn, dumb little thing doesn’t even know she needs someone to babysit her. I quit watching and look what happened.

But it’s too late now. I’ve already done the math on exits.

I’m inside. I’m boxed in .

And Charlotte?

She just invited hell inside her fucking home.

“Grayson, man! This where you been?” the tattooed guy says, his teeth crooked, the rings on his fingers catching the overhead light.

Country boy scans the room, already making himself at home. “Nice place... sort of.”

Then he spots her.

His chin juts toward the hallway. “Who’s that snack?”

I follow his line of sight.

Charlotte didn’t hide.

Crossed arms under her tits, which only push them higher, and cheeks flushing pink like she’s either flattered or nervous.

She should be scared.

I force my voice flat. “That’s Piggy. Don’t let her innocent face fool you, her cunt stinks. She gets around.”

Charlotte scoffs under her breath. I’m sure her insecure self will ask later if I meant it.

I don’t look at her. I can’t. I want to scream at her to cover up. Hide.

This is what I get. The only girl I ever let myself want. Let myself pretend was mine. And now, I’m about to watch her get torn apart.

Bobby chuckles. “Hey, hey, hey. Don’t be cruel to my new little peach. Come here, sweety.”

He pats the couch like he’s calling over a dog.

And like a goddamn fool , she goes.

Her eyes flick to me, begging me to say something, to do something, to reassure her she didn’t fuck up.

I give her nothing except: “Piggy. Don’t. Go to your room.”

She hesitates.

The men laugh.

The tattooed man whistles. “This ain’t no child, bro. That’s a whole meal, barely able to stand with those tits weighing her down.”

Bobby yanks her beside him on the couch.

Instinctively, I move toward her. Like something snapped inside me.

I can’t fucking handle another man touching her.

And that’s a mistake, because a baseball bat swings at me fast. I barely have time to snatch it mid-air, but my stomach is met with a gut punch from someone else.

“You like her, hm?” Bobby says, then cackles. He rests his arm around her, drawing her close.

Boiling my blood.

He adds casually, “Drake’s right. Nice rack. And I do like the innocent faces.” She squirms to stand, but he holds her in place, then tugs at her neckline to see more.

She swats his hand, causing the men to chuckle.

The muscles in my jaw grind my molars. My hands flex. But I stay still. Racing through ways to get out of this mess. To save her.

Country boy raises his hands, smiling like a game show host. “I think it’s time to collect, huh, Bobby? ”

“I’ll get you the money,” I say fast. Too fast. Too desperate. The whole damn room heard it. That girl? She means something to me. And I hate that she does.

“Money?” Charlotte repeats, blinking. She looks at Bobby. “Wait... aren’t you Grayson’s brother?”

Laughter explodes across the room, ugly and loud.

Except me.

Bobby looks at the others. “I don’t think Grayson has the money. So why don’t we show him we mean business? Starting with her .”

“I told you! I’ll get you the money. Tomorrow! I promise!” I plead.

However, Bobby leans in, sniffing her neck. “Goddamn, what a sweet little thing you are!”

Then, he eyes me. “Let’s see if her pussy smells just as sweet.” He licks her face and drags his lips against her cheek.

She chokes back a sob, face red, whole body shaking.

And I fucking snap .

I elbow the guy next to me, sending him tumbling, then lunge forward, ready to rip off Bobby’s greasy head.

Whip-tight pain sears across my throat.

I choke.

Tattooed fucker is behind me with a thin garrote wire digging into my throat, biting deep.

“ Grayson! ” Charlotte screams.

My knees buckle as country boy slams a fist into my stomach .

Another, and another.

Knuckles meet my face.

The wire pulls tighter, cutting off air. I claw at my neck, nails scraping skin, useless.

Then I see it. The gun. Pressed against Charlotte’s temple.

My vision blurs and I stop fighting to regain some oxygen.

Bobby smiles, watching me as his hand creeps up her thigh.

“You wanna know what I went in for, little girl?” he whispers, his salt and pepper black hair falling forward as he nears her face.

Her skin goes pale, wet with tears. She shakes her head.

Bobby laughs. “Robbery... and rape. ”

Just then, his pinky finger slips beneath her shorts.

Rubbing.

Right over her panties.

Over her.

Mine.

Rage ignites behind my eyes. I can’t stop myself and thrash. Twist. Yell against the choke, but no sound comes out.

I’m pistol-whipped. Fist to the face. Boot to the ribs. Pain blinds me and the wire burns my neck worse.

“Calm down, bro,” Bobby says, grinning. “I ain’t gonna tell her you went away for the same thing... Oh! Shit. Guess I let that slip!”

Charlotte’s eyes lock with mine.

I can’t breathe. Can’t speak. Can’t lie .

Bobby’s hand yanks down her neckline with force. Her breasts spill out.

My heart stops.

My girl. They keep exposing her. Touching her. Taking her further from me.

This.

This is my nightmare. One of the many reasons I should have never indulged.

She tries to hide her chest, slip them back into her bra, but Bobby jams the gun straight into her mouth, the heavy barrel scraping her teeth.

I thrash more, desperate to save her. My pulse thrums against my eardrums. A baseball bat cracks , hitting my arm, surely breaking it. The wire cuts deeper, and my face burns hot.

Charlotte sobs, but her voice is muffled by the gun.

The bastard missing two fingers strides to her and yanks on her shorts. She struggles the best she can with a gun deep in her mouth, but in seconds, the bottom half of her is naked.

I keep throwing elbows, grappling, trying anything to reach them. I get a few kicks in, but nothing works.

He spreads her legs, his dick out.

Bobby inhales deeply through his nose as he rubs the inside of her thigh. “Smells like good pussy to me. I think Grayson was lying. Imagine that. Grayson’s a liar!”

They laugh, but I’m deaf, watching in horror as the other’s disgusting prick nears her entrance .

Thud, thud, thud.

From the stairs — footsteps.

Atticus. Tall, muscles flexed.

He holds a fucking sword, his yellow hair wild. He’s serious and charges, blade pointed. Straight towards Bobby.